


Between The Lines

by Marie_Michon



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Belting, F/M, Face Slapping, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Slapping, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, Whipping, bound hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Michon/pseuds/Marie_Michon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> Constance had taken the swing to slap Aramis hard across the face. But this time he caught her wrist mid-air.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The two Musketeers had been alone in the shop, her husband was out of town on business travels and they currently didn’t even have a lodger living in their spare room. They were alone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It dawned Constance that this time there was no one left to witness his behaviour and she realised with a jolt that he could have stopped her from slapping him every time, if he had wished to.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He stepped closer with her wrist held tight in his left hand.</em>
</p><p> <em>“I told you what I would do, the next time you did this.” Aramis said in a neutral voice shaking her wrist once to make clear what <strong>this</strong> was.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Between The Lines

 

She had taken a wide a swing to make her slap as forceful as possible and ensure his broad and dirty smirk to stop.

Too wide, apparently. 

But he would have caught her wrist anyway, if he had wanted to.

He was a soldier of very good reflexes, quick as a snake and she a common seamstress. Young, lively, strong, especially strong headed, but nowhere a match for a man of his constitution.

Usually he would have let her… slap him that is.

She suspected it was because she was a woman.

Whenever a man as much as vaguely insulted him, Aramis was fast and cruel in his response, _deadly_ sometimes.

But he seemed to enjoy her chastisements, _relish_ in them, even, provoking them much too often to be casual.

And when he did, she just couldn’t stop herself, she just had to hit him. _And he most certainly always deserved it!_

He was a terrible tease and loved to say things that simply deserved him being hit, if only to teach him manners. And Constance was hot headed, proud and stubborn enough to take it on her to teach him those. Also he brushed her up the wrong way. She just _had_ to make him shut up once in a while, to wipe his blatant smile right off his face with a red and white imprint of her hand on his cheek, although cheek seemed way too simple a word for his finely chiselled features.

That was another reason why she liked to slap him...

He was handsome, he looked dashing, and he was rumoured to be not only amongst the bravest of the King’s Musketeers but also amongst the most daring ones, famous for bedding the noblest of Paris’ ladies and being not opposed to fulfilling even their most dark desires.

Sometimes, when she accompanied her husband to a duchess’ house - or even to court - to present the most expensive cloth, and he left her with the ladies to take measurements for a new dress of the most recent couture, she overheard the ladies talk about him, _whisper_ about him, more precisely.

At first, it had taken her some time to realise that she actually _knew_ the man whom they were talking about, being not sure if she had misheard the name, the name of one of the King's Musketeers… _Aramis_.

Behind their fans, they were murmuring about how his touch made them tremble, his lips started to make them shiver and his tongue took them apart. How they desired his gorgeous body and his admirable member.

Constance always kept her eyes down; it was not her place to look at the ladies to search for truth in their faces. So she tried to leave her thoughts focussed at her task, trying not to pay the ladies’ idle chatter any heed, surely they were just lying to be part of another stupid court vogue.

 

But the more she heard, the more she started to believe that there had to be at least a spark of truth in the tales. And she found herself looking up from time to time to remember a visage that revealed an especially piquant or scandalous way of indulging with that Musketeer - Aramis - to her confidante. So much below their stand was Constance that they didn’t even see her watch and blush; and if they noticed, they thought it was her naivety.

Nobody could suspect that she _knew_ the man they were talking about; the man she knew as the best friend of one of her husband’s favourite customers, the noble Musketeer Athos, who seemed so detached from all earthen pleasures that the attributes accounted to his friend seemed all the more unbelievable and shocking.

How could she just forget everything she had heard?

How could she keep herself from thinking about those intimacies and debaucheries… although she was a married woman… but so were the ladies who had talked about him...

 

Whenever she met him thereafter, when he accompanied Athos, she couldn’t help imagining him doing _the things_ to the ladies, they had spoken about.

Imagining him doing things, she didn’t even dare to _dream_ about before, fulfilling unspeakable wishes and dark desires…

But then, in her every day’s life, he just was the friend of Athos, Athos who had become more than a customer, through several occasions, when he had stepped in for her, Athos, who was close to being a friend. And Aramis was just the arrogant peacockish friend of that friend, much too self-assured for her taste and terribly irritating with his polished manners and his quick and eloquent tongue.

Now that she knew that he _entertained_ the noblest women of Paris, how _could_ she look at him the same as before?

But at the same time, he treated her like a common neighbour with the occasional friendly bickering and teasing that left her no other choice than to show him his place... by slapping him.

Which other way was there for a woman like her to approach a man like him, to _touch_ a man like him?

And usually, he would just smile, an honest smile for a change, and say something witty and even more teasing, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth offering a friendship she could never accept openly; and she would not only enjoy that adventurous rage that she sometimes still felt at what he had said or done but just as much their closeness, their own violent intimacy, as he let her do to him what would most surely cost any other man his life.

 

So here they were, again.

Athos had shaken his head in mild disapproval, the notion he customarily showed for Aramis alone, whereas, were it any other man, Athos would have treated him with the silent stare that let the blood freeze in his opponents, before he had put back on his hat, and left their shop, as Constance had taken the swing to slap Aramis hard across the face.

But this time he caught her wrist mid-air.

 

The two Musketeers had been alone in the shop, her husband was out of town on business travels and they currently didn’t even have a lodger living in their spare room.

They were alone.

It dawned Constance that this time there was no one left to witness his behaviour, and she realised with a jolt that he could have stopped her from slapping him every time, if he had wished to.

He stepped closer with her wrist held tight in his left hand.

 

“I told you what I would do, the next time you did this.” Aramis said in a neutral voice shaking her wrist once to make clear what _this_ was.

 

Constance’s mind raced.

He said a lot, customary; it didn’t mean he’d ever get back to it.

And she said so much as well, not meaning everything as harsh, usually, as said in the heat of the moment.

Damn, she could not even remember when or what about their last fight actually was.

When did she last slap him?

 

Aramis watched her closely.

His glare flickering from her left to her right eye, searching for the reaction he knew would come…

His eyes narrowed in on her and his voice dropped to a colder scale as he resumed.

 

“I said,” he started to remind her, “I’ll throw you over my knees…”

 

Oh yes, she remembered, she had laughed out loud…

 

“… and have your bare back belted.”

 

…right, to mask her true reaction to that brazen offer.

 

She tried to laugh, carefree, again, but it sounded false, even to her own ears.

Constance suppressed the gulp she desperately needed to take.

 

Aramis still held her eyes, intensely, with his own, but now, a slow and predatory smile spread around the corner of his mouth.

 

“You were kidding!” Constance protested and hoped the slight shiver in her voice would be taken as the indignation she should rightly feel.

“Was I?” Aramis crooned.

 

Constance felt a blush rise that tempted her to slap him again.

Her rising anger at herself for the reaction she could not hide must have been boiling on the surface of her blazing eyes, so much that Aramis alleviated her obvious distress.

 

“Frankly, I had merely been suggesting, until I beheld your reaction.”

 

Constance tried to look scandalised, so Aramis modified.

“It was nowhere near as strong as now, you needn’t fear for your repute, it surely wasn’t obvious to everyone, but the hints have been there, nevertheless.”

 

He let her wrist go and turned around to close and bolt the door to house Bonacieux.

Constance finally had the chance to gulp down all the fluids that had pooled in her mouth.

_“Nothing would be more natural for a married woman, than to take a lover.”_

She had overheard the fine ladies repeat their doctrine on several occasions.

And this was not just _any lover;_ Aramis was the most famous lover of Paris.

Also, her own husband was neither a man she would have chosen to marry nor did she love him. He wasn’t even pleasant to lie with…

It was true that she had imagined herself in Aramis’ arms instead several times already, Athos’ as well, if she was truly honest, but it was Aramis she had been given all these naughty pictures in her head about.

But how could she succumb to a temptation so easily? She was a respectable married woman after all!

No, she couldn’t allow this to happen.

 

She pulled herself up to her full height and proclaimed in the most severe voice she could muster:

“Monsieur, you are dearly mistaken! There was no such thing, neither will there ever be. You will instantly unbolt that door and close it from outside!”

 

As Aramis remained where he was, between her and the door, without reacting to her request, Constance moved to step around him to open the door herself.

Aramis intercepted her with a smile and look so blatant that it was obvious they were approved means of seduction.

Constance couldn’t be more affronted to be believed so simple to change her mind that she lunged to slap him again.

He let her and gasped open mouthed.

 

“Ahhh,…” he relished in her agitation, pulling from his cuff his hand kerchief to dap at the corner of his mouth, no blood, a shame...

“…I _love_ that in a woman!”

“What?” Constance asked sourly, “defiance?”

“Violence!” Aramis answered with a sigh.

 

Constance huffed and tried to get past Aramis again, but he caught her wrist and stopped her, pulling her close to him.

“Pray, do you like it as well?” He asked her conspiratorially, his features all innocent curiosity.

Constance didn’t know what to answer to him, the man she had so often hit.

Could she still deny her tendency to violence?

And if she tried to convince him, she only liked to deal it out to others, would the man believe her, the very man who had obviously already read her hidden desires and was now witness to her flustered blushing, would he even care...

He pulled her closer still, by her wrist alone, pulled her body flush against his side and whispered viciously into her ear:

“Whom am I trying to protect, I _know_ you do.”

 

With that he turned to face her fully and looked into her eyes, looked for the final consent or dismissal he knew she wouldn’t be able to voice any longer.

He held her gaze, giving her a chance to change her mind, but when he saw her swallow heavily, finally, and tear her eyes free to look at the floor in front of her, he caught her chin and raised her face back to look at him.

 

“Do not fear what you desire.” Aramis said, encouraging, and held both her arms below her elbows.

“You _asked_ for it, even if you didn’t do it consciously, and I am willing to give it to you. No one will ever know. A Musketeer doesn’t kiss and tell…” he said with so much mirth in his voice that Constance had to smile and look back with blossoming interest.

Aramis slid his hands up to her shoulders to give them an encouraging squeeze.

 _Damn being the respectable married woman!_ _Why should only the rich ladies get all the fun?_

This was Aramis, it wasn’t as if she had to fear having a lover lingering under her windows afterwards, or brag with his conquest, he could have any woman, he would have forgotten her the next day when he was back in some expensively robed duchess’ embrace.

_Hell, yeah._

Aramis’ smile became heartening and he slid his hands further up, cupping her jaws smoothly with his long and delicate fingers.

He brushed her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her warmly on her lips. He kept his lips firm but tender against her lush little mouth, opening them just slightly and left her lips again with just enough sucking to produce a nice little sound of a kiss.

It felt so good, safe and secure, just enough to kindle the longing for more of this… and somehow frighteningly definite.

“So we have a deal.”

Aramis declared and let her face go just to catch her around her midst and throw her over his shoulder.

Constance squeaked and pedalled wildly but Aramis remained unimpressed and carried her to the backdoor of the shop.

 

“Where are you going?!” Constance cried, fighting to get down but Aramis had her in a strong and firm grip.

He apparently was practised in this.

“Your bedroom, Madame”, Aramis stated matter-of-fact,“Unless you want me to manhandle you elsewhere.”

“What?!” Constance screeched exasperated.

“You asked me to put you over my knees, remember? Although if you changed your mind and want your belting arranged differently, I am open to suggestions…”

“No!” Constance screamed.

“No to what?” Aramis requested politely as he proceeded on to the private rooms of the Bonacieux'.

“No to the belting? I would change that sentence to whipping, if you preferred that, or… spanking.”

She couldn’t see his face but his voice transmitted all the sensuality he underplayed his offer with.

“Or no to my knees? I could chastise you while you bend over your bed, or a chair…”

 

Constance made a desperate screeching sound as she wriggled and fought to get free.

Aramis opened the first door and closed it again.

 

“So, where is your bedroom, Madame?”

Constance shivered as she heard his address, still perfectly polite in spite of the rest of the situation. _He normally beds high ranked ladies…_ her mind supplied.

“Is this a way to treat a lady?” she asked instead, trying to sound indignantly.

Aramis chuckled mischievously.

“I treat every lady according to her wishes.”

“I wish that you set me down!” Constance insisted.

“No,” Aramis countered, “you say you do, but you _wish_ me to proceed.”

“You, Monsieur, are presumptuous and impertinent!”

“And you, Madame, like that.”

 

Aramis had searched the ground floor, in vain, and found the room he was searching for upstairs. He entered the bedroom with Constance still over his shoulder.

“Or would you wish it to happen in any other room… your kitchen perhaps?”

All Constance could do was huff out a breath but it came out more as panting as to sound scandalised.

He finally let her down and caught her wrists with his right before she could slap him again.

“The bed it is, then.”

He pushed her back so she came to sit her on the edge of her bed, her wrists still in his hand, and threw aside his hat with his left.

Then he loosened his sword belt and let it slip to the ground one-handed. He unbound his scarf that he wore under it, still securing her wrists with his right, and bound her hands tightly before he unbuttoned his doublet.

 

“How would you like it, Madame?”

“Aramis, stop this, now!”

She blushed.

 _How did that happen? The stress, his touch, the situation…_ She only said his first name, ever, in her dreams.

“ _Constance_ ,…” he drew her name out, suggestively, tasting the sudden familiarity of their first names on his tongue.

“…would you prefer me to address you so… confidentially?”

 

It felt better.

She wasn’t one of his ladies at court. She was Constance.

A friend, she would have dared to hope for the future, in a secret small corner of her innerst.

Didn’t her slapping create this closeness, quite like an intimacy?

And for her that meant first-name-basis.

She inhaled. Yes, she wanted to feel this safe, this secure, first name it was.

She nodded.

He smiled, genuinely.

She looked up into his hazel eyes. They hadn’t quite lost their edge but there was something warm and steady in them.

“Why would you do this, Aramis?” She asked, surprised how easy his name rolled of her tongue… in front of him, on a bed, restrained.

“It happens to be my favourite pastime, Constance.” He answered. “I love it, and you always look at me like… that!”

“Like _what_?!” The scandalised tone was back, but her deepening blush betrayed her intention.

 

He took a step back and unhooked the rest of his weapons.

“Like _that._ ”

 

She gulped.

She had imagined him like that before, in his shirt-sleeves, undressing… _naked. Doing the things she had heard of…_ But he couldn’t possibly know _that_.

He looked at her knowingly, his gaze intense, his smile tight.

She blushed even deeper.

 

“So, how do you imagine it?”

_Oh God… this really happens… DAMN!_

There were so many things to choose from.

How could she decide?!

She searched her mind frantically.

 

He unhooked his braces and opened his shirt right down to his belly, all the time holding her gaze.

She had imagined _quite_ some things, but would she really like to try that, in reality, with him?!

He picked up one of the discarded weapon belts he had been wearing.          

 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 

He folded it double, watching her closely, and snapped it once to let it bang together with a loud crack.

She must have shown some sign of decision, according to is pursed lipped smile.

He pushed her back so that her upper body was sprawled over the bed, her bound hands over her head but her legs were still resting on the floor, caught up in her skirts.

She tried to kick him anyways.

Aramis caught her legs between his and loomed over her, his shirt revealing much of his hairy chest that was barely heaving in contrast to Constance’s which was close to spilling out of her bodice and her low cut blouse as she was breathing heavily, lying on her back.

Another deep inhale and a nipple might peak out.

Aramis’ sleeves billowed like the large wings of a landing bird of prey as he moved in on her and rested one knee on the bed next to her hip.

He brought the hand that was not holding the belt to his mouth and pulled at his glove with his teeth to free his hand.

_No!_

Constance thought, remembering narrations of the smoothness of the soft leather in stark contrast to his strong hands.

She couldn’t suppress the shudder that escaladed down her back.

Aramis’ smile turned predatory as he removed the hand from his mouth and rested it on his thigh that was perched on the bed next to her.

 

“Good choice.” He purred, his voice clearly deeper and underlain with a fluid velvety.

She wanted to return his smile but he gripped her by the hips and turned her around to lie on her belly, too quick for her to react.

All she could do was squeak.

She lay where she had before, just turned around, with her upper body on the bed, her hands still bound at her wrists over her head and her feet still resting on the floor but now her back was in the air, bent over the edge of the bed.

Constance panted harshly for air, her breasts suddenly feeling way too tightly packed in her bodice.

Aramis pulled up her skirts, making sure his leather clad knuckles stroked all along the back of her thighs before gathering the skirts around at her waist, to reveal her lushly rounded naked buttocks that were presented to him perfectly in her current splay.

Aramis hummed appreciatively.

“You are gorgeous, Constance!” Aramis said calmly, stroking her mounds firmly with his still gloved hand.

“Does your husband even duly appreciate what he has offered?” He asked, his hand rounding her ass again, fingertips ghosting over the enticing gap where her bottom turns to thigh, this time, catching at the sticky slash between her legs.

Constance gasped and another shiver forced its way down her spine.

Never had she felt this exposed before and this excited at the same time.

 

“I didn’t think so.” Aramis resumed and gave her a final pat on her cheek before his hand vanished.

“But this isn’t what you’ve asked for, is it?”

Constance felt his weight shifting on the bed.

“You could have gone fishing for compliments everywhere, n’est pas? I’m quite sure our dear friend Athos would have sufficed to satisfy those cravings…”

Constance huffed and tried to turn, to voice her dissent, but Aramis’ knee descended on the small of her back and pinned her down on the bed in her position.

“And I’m also quite certain, you would have gone elsewhere, to get your gash darned, Madame seamstress, there would have been no need to corporally assault a King’s Musketeer, _repeatedly_!”

 

“That’s not… I didn’t!” Constance wriggled franticly to get enough space to look at him, angrily, to defend herself, but that’s when the belt smacked down on her ass.

She stopped her fighting and pulled air through her teeth, hissing.

“Ouuuch!” _That hurt!_

 

Aramis rested one gloved hand reassuringly on the hilltop of her backside.

 

“Non, ma chère, you picked your fights very _deliberately_ with me!”

 

Another crack tore through the air as the belt descended on her rosy behind, again.

Constance grunted but pressed her teeth together. _He couldn’t possibly know why she had done it. Could he? He surely bluffed…_

 

“I didn’t…!” She started again, trying to sound exasperated “You’re just impossibly…”

 

Another snap.

 

“Ahhh-OUUUU!” Constance could feel her butt heating up and starting to burn. _FUCK, that is harsh…_

“Stop that!!!”

 

“Oh, no, my dear Constance, not before you got what you’ve been asking for.”

 

He let the belt snap sharply lower against her back and Constance screamed out.

 

The throbbing of the heated welts on her behind was echoed lower with a throbbing in her deep insides.

_Oh God…_

The next blow elicited a groan from Constance that couldn’t be mistaken anymore.

 

Constance tried to hide her face in the bedding. Surely she couldn’t blush any stronger anymore.

 

Another strike hit home. And another... _Goddammit, Aramis, …_

 

Constance hoped strongly that her needy moan was swallowed by the bedding that she had bitten into.

 

It felt as if the vibration of the strokes made her womb precipitate fluids like she’d never felt before.

 

Surely the next low hit would bring it splashing out of her; she could already feel herself starting to drip.

 

She hadn’t felt that wet in a very long time, _and never before for a man_.

 

Aramis’ knee left her back and she heard the belt hit the floor. _Oh my god…_

 

Aramis marvelled at his handiwork and smoothed his hand over her buttocks, humming lowly, soothingly.

 

As his fingertips caught between her lips, now, they drew a thin mucous thread.

 

Constance, finally free to move her upper half, again, turned her head to look at him.

She hoped it wasn’t too longing.

 

He brought the hand up before his face and ground his fingers against each other to test the viscosity and moaned appreciatively.

_Oh my god, please, Aramis, please…._

 

“So...” he mused, his gaze at her so dark she had to swallow.

“Tell me how you wish your culmination. How did you imagine it?”

 

She wanted to contradict, to tell him that she didn’t, that he should stop here, but he shook his head slowly, tutting.

“Constance, please, we’re long past that!”

 

He pulled off the glove that had touched her desire and stretched his dextrous fingers.

 

_Mhmmm!_

 

With the other, still gloved, hand he cupped his tumescent erection, which she hadn’t noticed rising in his breeches until then.

 

_Ohhh!_

 

His smile turned intense, dirty.

 

_Shit. He does read my mind…_

 

The moisture pooling in her mouth started rivalling that between her thighs.

 

Aramis opened his breeches, slowly, and shoved his underpants low enough to pull his cock out.

His eyes never left Constance’s and he smiled at her barely visible but obvious reaction.

 

_Oh no, no, please, Aramis, we can’t this is madness…._

 

He laughed out loud and gripped his cock at its base, showing off the beautifully structured silken column that still grew in his hand to its full extent.

 

_Ah damn… Everything about him looks so handsome, so athletic, so deliciously sensual…_

 

He stepped out of her sight and back behind her.

 

_God, please, let him fuck me like he hit me!_

 

His nude fingers slipped inside her easily.

Both moaned, equally aroused.

 

_Oh, fuck, I am so wet! It all feels so unreal…_

 

“It can just be your dream, Constance, it never really happened if you need it, to let go…”

She felt herself relax.

_Just this once, like his beautiful ladies…_

He pulled his fingers out.

“You are just as gorgeous, Constance, like this even more!”

 

He pushed in, with all that he had at once, filling her completely.

 

She groaned low in her throat and could have come right then, the throbbing in her womb nearly peaking.

_Oh my gosh, Aramis…_

He stilled her with his naked hand on the small of her back and shushed until he felt her throbbing subside, the clutching around his girth ebbing down… before he started to move.

 

Slowly, to let her get accustomed to his dimensions, at first.

His shallow slide cautiously spread her fluids around him, and then harder, vigorously.

 

He gripped her hip tight with his still gloved hand.

 

His breeches, only pulled down enough to free his cock, slammed against her maltreated behind as he thrust into her.

 

_Yes, yes, yes!_

 

Aramis matched her abandon with a moan of his own as fucked her severely, steadily building their pace.

 

As her panting started to become ragged he pulled all the way out for a heartbeat just to pound deeper back in.

Constance screamed in delight, never having dreamed of having this. _Loving this, way too much…_

 

_I never want this to stop…_

Aramis laughed.

 

_He sounds so effortless and I am nearly done…_

“You don’t have my practice.”

_?!_

“I hear you getting exhausted; also I feel your climax building in your clenching flesh.”

“Aramis!!”

“Don’t fret, I’ll make you come so hard it won’t matter.”

 

He changed his angle and his forceful strokes hit her rough spot hard, over and over until her moans turned into a scream and her inner frantic clenching into a vicelike grip around his cock as she finally came.

 

_OH GOD, ARAMIS!_

 

He groaned hoarsely as she milked him violently and he had to clench his teeth to hold back as he didn’t want to come inside her.

 

She still clung pulsating to him as he eventually pulled out, forcefully, and spurted all over her ass.

 

Constance felt as if she could come again.

 

“I’m sorry, Constance, I couldn’t hold back any longer, your delicious back was just too juicy!”

He slapped it to prove his point and pulled her skirts back down before he put himself back in his breeches.

 

She turned on the bed to look at him as he buttoned his doublet.

_I cannot believe this happened…_

 

“Ah, ma chère,” Aramis said, as he bend over her to free her wrists and unwound his scarf to sling it back around his waist. “Your wish is solely my command!”

“I did not…” Constance started but Aramis put his index finger over her mouth to shut her up.

 

He had the glove back on that he had swiped through her wetness; she could taste herself on her lips.

 

He shook his head.

 

“You know what you wished for and I had _told_ you, how to get it.”

“This cannot happen again…”

“It won’t, if you don’t _ask_ for it, again…”

 

He had put his belts back on and collected his weapons and his hat.

“Madame!” He said and left with a sweeping bow.

 

She bristled.

How hard could it be not to hit him again, she thought and let herself fall back on the bed.

She heard him chuckle on the stairwell down.

_Damn…_

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, feel free to point out any mistakes, please.
> 
> Also this is not an AU. Aramis can read sexual fantasies, it's in the series, if you look closely.


End file.
